


A Slice of Life

by Capstar98



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: A Daily Bugle Headline, A Spider and His City, But also, Classic Spidey, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hot Dog Stands, Hurt/Comfort, Muggers - Freeform, Peter is a Little Shit, Peter is lightly shot, a bank robbery, a day in the life, grown up peter parker, thwip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28458384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capstar98/pseuds/Capstar98
Summary: A day in the life of Peter Parker as he navigates Central Park, takes down villains with dumb costumes, and eats hot dogs. And of course, how everything goes wrong along the way.Hopefully, he'll at least get some pie at the end.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Johnny Storm, Peter Parker & New Yorkers, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	A Slice of Life

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write some fun, classic Spidey, so this is my best shot at that! This was so fun to write. I pulled in a bunch of references and moments from the comics, so let me know if you spot any! Also I might have pulled a quote from the Daily Show ;)

_Thwip!_

A strand of webbing shot out from Peter’s wrist and held fast to the side of the next building. Then he swung forwards, the wind whipping past his ears. When he reached the end of the arc he let go, letting himself fly forwards for a moment before sending out yet another web. 

That was the best bit -- when he got to just _fly._ At this point, those moments felt as necessary as breathing. 

After a few blocks, Peter landed on the corner of a rooftop, looking out over the street below. It was rush hour, and cars and people were bustling below as they headed to their various destinations. 

A noise in his ear distracted him from his looking, but Peter accepted the call with a smile. “Hey, MJ. What’s up?” 

_“Hey, Peter. Just calling to make sure you remember about tonight.”_

Peter blinked. 

_“You do remember what’s happening tonight?”_

“Yeah…” he said slowly. “The thing -- we’re doing the thing tonight.” 

He could almost hear MJ rolling her eyes. _“The dinner, Peter! Everyone’s coming over tonight for dinner!”_

Peter hit himself in the forehead. “Right! Right. Yeah, I knew about that.” 

_“Sure you did. Tony and Pepper are coming at seven, and I think May and Happy’ll be there a little after that.”_

“Yes, yes, I remember now. I’m not a total doofus.” 

_“Coulda fooled me. Now, I need you to pick up the pie from Flor’s before you come home.”_

Peter nodded. “Got it.” 

_“Thanks. And please -- for the love of god, Peter -- please show up on time? I know that’s difficult for you, but I’d rather not sit through another dinner with all of your parents here without you.”_

Peter chuckled. “They’re not my _parents._ Well -- some of them kind of are --” 

_“You know exactly what I mean.”_

“Okay, okay. I’ll be there at seven. I promise.” 

_“With pie,”_ MJ reminded him. 

“With pie,” Peter agreed. 

_“Okay, see you then. Love you.”_

Peter smiled. “Love you, too. See you at seven.” 

MJ hung up, and Peter smiled to himself before checking the time. It was 3:30 now -- still plenty of time before he had to be back.

He leapt off the building and set to swingin’. 

* * *

Hot dog vendors were practically on every street corner in Midtown, and Peter had probably tried dogs from most of them. But there was one that had his heart -- although it might have been because the hot dogs there were free for him.

“Aha!” he said once he spotted it. 

_It_ was Reggie’s hot dog cart, and he managed to land on top of it gracefully. 

“What the --” Reggie startled, looking up. “Oh, Spider-Man, it’s you. Just -- give me a minute, I got a line here.” 

Peter settled on top of the cart, sitting with his legs swinging over the side. 

The customer up front was an older woman with sharp glasses and a pencil skirt. She glanced at Peter for only a moment before ordering. “Yeah, can I get a hot dog with tomatoes?” 

“What -- c’mon, tomatoes? Really?” Peter cut in incredulously. “Everybody knows there are only three acceptable toppings for a hot dog: mustard, onions, and stagnant cart water.”

Reggie shrugged at the customer. “Yeah, sorry -- we don’t have tomatoes.” 

The woman looked up at Peter with an irritated expression. “You know, I don’t think this guy is very good for your business,” she said shortly. 

“‘This guy’?” Peter repeated to himself.

“You’re tellin’ me,” Reggie said dryly. “He comes here like twice a day, and he ain’t payin’.” 

“What?” Peter said defensively, patting his stomach. “I’m a growing boy!” 

“Whatever,” the woman said. “I just want a hot dog.”

“That I can do,” Reggie said. 

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Peter was chowing down on his own hot dog as he chatted with the vendor. 

“You know what I mean, Reggie?” Peter was saying around a mouthful of hot dog. “Some people you just can’t trust. But it’s hard to know who. I’m not really good at that, I think. I listen to my spidey-sense more than my gut.” 

Reggie was leaning up against the side of the cart, his head in his hand. “You know, when I said you could come here for free hot dogs I wasn’t offering to be your therapist.”

“And yet you’re a natural,” Peter replied, tipping his hot dog at him. 

Reggie rolled his eyes. “What is a spidey-sense, anyways?” 

Peter chewed and swallowed. “It’s like my danger detector. Like, I can _feel_ when something bad’s about to happen to me. It’s super helpful, honestly.”

There was a moment’s pause. “What about _that,_ then? Can you sense that?” 

“What?” Peter shifted and looked up the street where Reggie was pointing. “Ah. That.” He narrowed his eyes. “What _is_ that?” 

The thing coming down the street towards them looked like Tin Man with leg extensions. The long, cylindrical metal legs were almost as tall as the second floor of the buildings they passed. The torso was round as well, and topped with a red-eyed metal head. 

It was impressive, really. At least, it would have been had it not looked like every step it took was happening in molasses. The thing was moving so slowly that people below had no problem getting out of its way. But it was holding a gun, and in this city that usually spelled trouble.

“Man,” Reggie said. “How’re you gonna stop that nutjob, Spidey?” 

Peter put down the rest of his hot dog and wiped his fingers off on his suit as he stood. “Just watch,” he said. “To thwart a menace of this magnitude requires a very sophisticated and specialized crime-fighting technique.”

He lifted one hand and sent a strand of webbing sailing across the street where it stuck to the building opposite them. The weirdly tall robot kept coming, one slow step at a time, until --

It hit the webbing, and Peter held fast to the other end to keep it tight. Then, creaking and wobbling, the long-legged guy tripped over the line and fell forwards, its head crashing to the ground half a block away. 

Satisfied, Peter looked back at Reggie. 

“Oh,” Reggie said. “you were being sarcastic?” 

“Yes. Yes, I was.” 

* * *

Central Park was packed. Not surprising, though, since it was a Friday afternoon. 

As Peter swung carefully through the trees, he spotted the usual characters: families with frisbees, picnickers, runners with something to prove, and dogs of every variety. 

By the boathouse, Peter spotted a kid wearing a Spider-Man mask playing with another boy dressed like the Green Goblin. 

Peter chuckled as he swung towards them, and landed in a crouch a few feet away from the pair. “Whoa!” he said, acting shocked. “Are you really Spider-Man?”

The two kids turned towards him, their wide eyes visible through the big holes in the masks. 

“Man, I’m a big fan,” Peter continued. “I mean, the suit -- great choice of colors.” 

“No way!” the boy wearing the Spider-Man mask broke out into a big grin. “No way!”

Peter walked up to the two of them. “And Gobby, is that you? You’re lookin’ a lot cooler than I remember. And like, less evil. Did you get your hair done or something?”

Little Green Goblin’s jaw dropped. “Whoa.” 

“You’re so cool!” Lil’ Spidey said, talking fast now. “My mom doesn’t like you, but you’re _so cool!_ Can you teach us how to flip?” 

Peter cocked his head. “You mean, like this?” He backflipped casually, landing in a half-crouch. 

“That was _amazing!”_ Lil’ Gobby said. “Do it again, do it again!” 

“It’s not so hard, really,” Peter said. “It’s all in how you move your head.”

“What’s your favorite bad guy?” Kid Spidey asked. “How high can you jump?” 

Peter raised his eyebrows. “Uh… those are two very different questions. But definitely Paste-Pot Pete. And --” he jumped up into the branches of a nearby tree and called down. “This high!” 

When he landed back on the ground, Lil’ Spidey was giggling in appreciation. 

“Paste-Pot Pete?” the little Green Goblin said. “Who’s that?” 

Peter pointed at the kid and grinned. “Exactly!”

The two kids looked at each other and laughed.

“Really, though — this makes my day,” Peter said. “I mean -- meeting the real Spider-Man and Green Goblin? You think I can get an autograph?”

“No -- really?” 

“Yeah, really.” 

Two matching grins answered that question for him, and five minutes later he swung away, the signatures of two little kids on his forearm. 

* * *

Peter burst through the skylight of the bank, glass flying everywhere. “Sorry,” he said loudly as he landed on the wall above the teller’s counter. “I think that was broken before I got here.” 

He took in the scene instantly, noting where each civilian was before training his eye to look more closely at the guy with the gun. 

And when he saw the costume, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Really?” he said. “Um -- you’re gonna have to help me with this one, I got no idea.” 

The wanna-be robbed bared his teeth, his ridiculous hat swaying a bit. “I am the Porpoise! Fighting for the rights of all water-dwelling creatures! Surrender your donations or die!” 

Peter cocked his head. “Yeah, now that I know, I do kinda see the flippers.”

“You won’t be laughing when the sea creatures come for their revenge!” The Porpoise said indignantly. “Now, I want my money!” 

“Dude,” Peter said. “I don’t think you understand. That’s not happening. What are you gonna do, summon the powers of the sea through that weird hat of yours?” 

The Porpoise grew red with anger. “It’s a _beak,”_ he spat. 

“Nice. Like I was saying,” Peter continued, “This? Not gonna happen.” 

“That’s what _you_ think!” The Porpoise reached out and grabbed the nearest person to him, an older woman with long white hair and a crocheted hat. 

“Oh, man,” Peter groaned as the gun was pointed at her. 

“The money!” The Porpoise demanded. 

The teller shoved a bag across the floor, his face white and terrified. “Just -- just take it, man! Just leave!” 

The Porpoise grabbed the bag, but kept his hand on the old woman as he backed up towards the door. Then he shoved the old lady to the ground and escaped out to the street, the bag of cash over his shoulder. 

Peter wasted no time in jumping after him, but by the time he got outside the guy was almost a block away. “Damn,” he said, swinging after the robber. “I didn’t know Porpoises were so fast.” 

The Porpoise was pushing his way through people on the sidewalk, running as fast as he could. Thankfully, swinging was a little faster than a man in a homemade dolphin costume.

Peter landed almost on top of him, and he and the Porpoise tumbled forwards into the produce stand in front of a bodega. Fruit and vegetables flew everywhere, rolling all over the sidewalk. 

“Not so fast,” Peter said as the Porpoise tried to get up and run. He leaped up onto a streetlight and sent a strand of webbing into the guy’s back. Then, with a snap of the wrist and a well-placed kick, the Porpoise was sent flying into the side of the building. One more blast of webbing had him stuck fast to the brick. 

Peter jumped off the streetlight and looked up at his good work, his hands on his hips. “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” 

“No!” The Porpoise screamed, fighting against the webs. The bag of money was still over his shoulder. “It isn’t over. The sea is coming for you!”

“Good,” Peter said, sending another little bit of webbing to cover the guy’s mouth. “I could use a beach day.” 

A bell jingled as the bodega owner ran outside. When he saw the mess, one hand ran through his greying hair. “What the fuck?” he looked up and Peter gave him a little wave. “Oh, you’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin me. What the fuck did you do to my vegetables, Spider-Man?” 

“Uh… this isn’t really my fault. It’s his.” He pointed at the costumed man pinned up on the side of the building. 

The shopkeeper glanced up at the scene, unimpressed. “I don’t care who the fuck’s fault it was! Look at this mess! My cabbages are fuckin’ everywhere!”

“Well, not a real loss. How many people really go for cabbages?” 

“You don’t know shit about my business, Spidey.”

Peter cocked his head. “You know, you curse a lot. Don’t you wanna watch your mouth in front of the kids?”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. “The kids could stand to learn some fuckin’ swear words! And you --” a finger pointed sharply in Peter’s direction. “You created this mess, so you’re gonna stay and help me clean this shit up.”

“Uh,” Peter rubbed a hand on the back of his head. “Yeah, real sorry man, but I can’t do that. See, the police and me aren’t really _simpatico_ at the moment. I gotta be gone before they come and collect this joker,” he said, looking up at the Porpoise. 

The shopkeeper crossed his arms over his chest, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “Well, the sooner you help me, the sooner you can fuckin’ leave.” 

Peter blinked. “Okay, I’ll help you. But -- not because I’m scared of you.” 

“Of course not. Now start grabbin’ vegetables.” 

* * *

Peter stopped for a rest on top of a skyscraper, his legs dangling over the long drop and a coffee in his hand. It was nice to stop sometimes, and just watch the city. It usually didn’t last, though. 

He was just finishing his coffee when a burst of light and hot air had Peter spinning around. When he saw who it was, he relaxed. 

“Johnny Storm, y’old hothead!” he greeted happily. “What’re you doing here?” 

Johnny grinned, his teeth sparkling white in the bright sun. “Just doing what I do. It’s kind of a lazy day at the tower, so I’m just letting off some steam.” 

“Oh, yeah -- how was Tiny Planet? I wish I coulda come with you, but it was my grandpa’s birthday last week.” 

Johnny’s eyes narrowed at him. “Pete, you don’t _have_ a grandpa.” 

“Right,” Peter agreed. “Guess I just didn’t want to come, then. But how was it?” 

Johnny rolled his eyes. “You were right,” he said a little reluctantly, “it was pretty lame. Once we shrunk down it looks just the same as earth.”

“I knew it!” Peter said, pointing a finger. “What did I tell you?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Johnny plopped down next to him on the roof. “I get it, you’ve got a sense for these things. Where do you feel it again? Your butt?” 

Peter raised an eyebrow. “That would be distracting. Nah, it’s more in my neck.” 

“Well, you might be able to feel things with your ass, but I can light mine on fire, so…” 

“Save it for your girlfriend, Torchy.”

Johnny cocked his head. “You know, she doesn’t actually _like_ fire. Bit of a weird one, that girl.” 

“Well, I’d say _most_ people aren’t quite as comfortable with setting their asses on fire as you. I wouldn’t take that as a red flag.” 

“Fair enough.” Johnny said. “Speaking of fire, how’s MJ?” 

Peter chuckled. “Good one. Yeah, she’s great, actually. Doing better than me right now, that’s for sure. She just got promoted.” 

“Damn! Give her my congrats!” 

“I will, but I can’t say she wants them from you right now.” 

Johnny nodded serenely. “She still mad at me about burning her plant?”

Peter fought back a smile. “Very.” 

“Understandable, honestly. That was not a pretty way to go.” Johnny shifted when his phone let out a little beep. “Ah, man -- I gotta go. Hey, you wanna race me to the Empire State Building?”

Peter chuckled and pushed himself to his feet. “Hell yeah, I do. Let’s go!” Without warning, he leapt from the roof, sending Johnny a salute as he did.

“What?” he heard Johnny cry. “Man, you do this every time --” Then the familiar figure of fire rose from the building.

Peter sent web after web flying, and had the lead for a few blocks, but as always once Johnny got his speed up it was no contest. 

When Peter got to the Empire State Building, passing the wide eyed tourists on the observation deck for the bottom of the needle, Johnny was leaning casually against it, still burning bright. 

“You suck,” Peter said. “Better watch your back, though -- you’re an old man. I’m bound to beat you soon.” 

“I’m only three years older than you!” Johnny said indignantly. 

Peter just laughed. 

“Ah, fuck you too, loser.” Johnny started to float away from the building, his middle finger raised high. “I gotta go.”

“Love you too, Torch! Say hi to the rest of the Foursome for me!” 

“Will do, asshole. See you!” 

Peter gave a last wave as Johnny sped off towards the Baxter building, leaving a trail of fire behind him.

* * *

The sun was setting in the sky, which meant that it was time for Peter to be headed back to Queens. He had about an hour and a half, but with Parker Luck he’d probably need every second of it.

In fact, he’d only swung about four blocks before a noise from a nearby alley had him stopping in his tracks. 

“Hand over the money, lady,” a gruff voice was saying. “Come on, I ain’t got all day.” 

“I don’t have any money!” 

It only took a second for Peter to locate the right alley. He swung in, landing just behind where a skinny dude in a hoodie was holding a gun up to a pretty woman in a green dress. She was shaking, her eyes wide. 

“Hey, Hoodie!” Peter called out. “Why don’t we keep that thing pointed at me? I’m used to being the center of attention.” 

The mugger snapped around in alarm, the gun moving with him. But with the way he had the woman cornered, she couldn’t quite make a break for it. 

Peter stepped forward calmly, his hands out in front of himself. “Look, man,” he said. “I get it -- capitalism fucked you over. Believe me, I know the feeling. But that doesn’t mean you gotta go pointing guns at people!” 

The mugger certainly didn’t look like he did this sort of thing for a living. His hands were shaking on the gun, and his face was pale. “Don’t come any closer,” he snapped.

“Why don’t you come to me, then,” Peter said. “We’ll just talk it out. I know of a great place you can get some lentil soup and a bed, if that’s what you need.”

Hoodie stepped sideways, the gun still pointed at Peter’s chest. “Are -- are you gonna kill me? I didn’t do anything!” 

The movement had created an alley of escape for the woman, and she ran for it, spitting in the mugger’s direction as she went. “Fuck you!” she yelled back as she broke out onto the street.

“Yeah -- didn’t do anything? I think that woman would probably disagree,” Peter said. “Now, just put the gun down --”

“I didn’t have a choice!” the man said frantically. “I’ve got a kid --” 

“A kid?” 

Hoodie swallowed, sweat dripping down his nervous face. The gun was still pointed his way. “Well, no -- that was a lie. Can you detect lies?”

Peter looked at him incredulously. “No, I can’t detect lies. And, what? That is the weirdest thing to lie about.” 

“I’ve got a girlfriend!” the man said defensively. 

“Okay…” Peter said. “That’s lovely. Now, listen, I don’t want to turn you in. I know you must be desperate. But you’ve gotta prove --”

_Bang!_

“Oh, _shit,”_ the man said, his face paling even further. 

Peter blinked, his gaze slowly sliding down to his chest. “Holy shit,” he said distantly. “Did you just shoot me?” 

“Oh my god, oh my god! I didn’t mean to! I -- I swear I didn’t mean to! I didn’t even know it was loaded!” 

For some reason, there wasn’t pain. At least not yet. As Peter watched a spot of dark red start to stain his suit, he just felt _annoyed._ “Oh, come _on._ I _just_ fixed this suit, man! Like a week ago.” 

“Oh, man, I am so sorry!” 

Tony and May were gonna be so mad. MJ was gonna be pissed. “Oh, god,” Peter moaned. “I’m so dead.” 

The guy’s eyes widened. “What!? You’re dying?” 

“No, I’m not _dying,”_ Peter spat. 

“You’re dying! Did I just kill Spider-Man?” 

“I am -- not -- dying!” How could this be happening right now. “I just can’t believe you shot me. You shot me! And I know it was an accident, because I didn’t -- agh!” Peter doubled over suddenly, clutching at his side. Yeah, there was the pain. 

“I’m so so sorry! What do I do, what do I do?” 

“Gah -- At least put the damn gun away!” 

“Oh, shit -- right --” The man floundered, looking around himself. 

“Away!” Peter reached his free hand up to shoot a web at the gun and pull it away. With a snap of his wrist, it was stuck to the cracked cement ground.

The guy let out an honestly embarrassing noise of surprise, looking terrified. 

“Can you just like…” Peter tried to lean back carefully against the wall of the alley for support, but it definitely wasn’t as graceful as he had intended. To be fair, his head was spinning a bit. “Walk yourself to the police station for me? Please?”

Peter had meant it as a joke, but apparently this guy was as good at handling sarcasm as he was handling a gun. “Yes! I -- I will! Where… uh, where is it?” 

“Oh, for --” Peter winced as he pressed a hand into his side. “It’s close. Walk that way two blocks, then turn right. You’ll hit it eventually.”

The man ran a shaky hand over his head, his face white. “Oh, god. I’m sorry, man. This is a wake up call. Really, Spider-Man, I’m gonna fix myself up! I’m gonna --” 

“That’s _great,”_ Peter bit out. But really, he did not have the time or patience for any of that right now. He pointed a wrist at himself and shot a ball of webbing to cover up the spreading ring of blood on his suit. As it hit his chest, he groaned. The webbing would make things more difficult later, but, like someone’s well-meant but useless apologies, he did not have the time. “Now, skedaddle, okay?”

“How can you forgive me?” 

Peter looked up from his chest and squinted at the guy in disbelief. “Seriously? _Seriously?”_ But the guy looked sincerely torn up. “Okay, honestly? You can make it up to me if I never see your face again. I think you know what I mean by that.” 

The man actually _saluted_ then. “Deal! I’m fixing myself up! It’s day one of my new life!”

Peter rolled his eyes and pointed to the street. _“Go.”_

“Yes, Mr. Spider-Man, sir. Bye, sir!” The man ran out of the alley and out onto the street, turning in the direction that Peter had told him to go. 

Once he was gone, Peter looked back down at his chest and the webbing that was now keeping his blood inside his body. “This is just _perfect,”_ he groaned. Hadn’t he just told MJ earlier that there’d be no fuck ups today? That he’d actually be able to be there for their dinner party?

“Great job, Pete,” he muttered to himself as he poked at the wound. It sparked with pain, and he ground his teeth together. “Okay,” he wheezed. “Bad idea.” 

The bullet had hit him on the left side of his abdomen. It felt like it was just below the ribs, but the pain was kind of radiating at this point so it was hard to tell. It certainly didn’t feel like it had hit his lungs. He knew that feeling, and this wasn’t it. 

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe he could just hold out until the end of dinner. That wouldn’t turn out badly, right? 

Right?

* * *

What did turn out badly right away was Peter’s attempt to swing home. He’d barely raised his arm over his head before the pain had been too much to handle. 

“Right,” he gasped. “Subway it is.” 

Peter ignored his growing headache as he shuffled down the street towards the nearest Subway entrance. Luckily, it wasn’t too far, but unluckily it was rush hour, and every human -- and skrull, probably -- in the city was currently also trying to get home. 

He hadn’t even realized he’d left his suit on until everyone started looking sideways at him. It wasn’t too weird for a superhero to be seen on the Subway, but Peter figured he probably didn’t look too good. 

A few minutes later, he stumbled onto the train and was surprised when a woman stood to offer up her seat. He should have declined, but the pain wasn’t helping him think too clearly. 

The train started moving forwards, tipping from side to side as it made its way down the tracks. 

“Hey, Spidey,” a large man seated to his right spoke up a few minutes into the ride. “You okay over there?”

Keeping one hand over the wound, Peter raised his other with a thumbs up. “Just peachy. Thanks, friend.” 

“You don’t look so good,” the woman who’d given up her seat for him remarked. 

“I’m headed home,” Peter reassured. “I’ve got a dinner to get to.” 

The people around him didn’t look convinced. 

“If you say so,” the man on his right said. 

“Trust me,” Peter said. “I’ve seen _way_ worse.” 

For some reason, that didn’t seem to reassure them at all. 

* * *

Peter might have passed out a little bit, because it felt like no time had passed before he made it to his stop. He pushed himself to his feet, only swaying a little bit, and sent the curious passengers another thumbs up before heading out to street level. 

Thankfully, the streets near his apartment were decently empty, and no one noticed as he made his way up the fire escape towards his entry window. 

As Peter finally stood in front of the window, breathing a little too heavily for what he’d just done, he checked the time. 

“Good,” he said happily. It was 7:05. “I made it.”

He stumbled in through the window to the bedroom, landing awkwardly in a way that made his vision white out for a second. When he came back to himself, he was leaning with his forehead against the wall. 

He glanced down at his stomach, noting with distant alarm that the blood was making its way down his front even with the webbing there. Huh. No wonder the people on the Subway had been staring. 

“MJ!” he managed to call out. “I’m home!”

“Oh, good!” he heard from other room. “Did you get the pie?” 

Oh, shit. The _pie._ How could he have forgotten the pie? “Maybe?” he said weakly. 

He heard laughter -- Tony and Pepper must have gotten there already because he could hear theirs, too. 

“What did I tell you?” MJ said. “Well, one thing at a time, I guess.”

“I’ll…” Peter’s head felt foggy, and he shook it in an attempt to clear it. “I’ll just go get it.”

He heard a hand on the doorknob to the bedroom. “Don’t worry about it,” Tony said cheerfully as he stepped in. “We already got it. We figured you --” 

Peter blinked as Tony froze suddenly. “What?”

Tony was looking at him in horror. “Jesus... Peter! Your stomach! Are you okay?” 

“What’s going on?” MJ said from the kitchen. 

Peter shrugged. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I’ve just been lightly… shot.” 

Tony rushed forwards to support him when he stumbled. “Holy shit, Peter! Shot!?”

“Did you just say ‘shot’?” Pepper’s voice sounded stressed. 

“Relax…” Peter said slowly. He felt like he couldn’t quite feel his feet. “It was just a minor -- shooting. It was an accident.”

MJ came rushing into the room, her face paling at the sight of him. “Peter?” she grabbed his arm and put a hand on his cheek. “What happened?” 

Peter smiled. “‘S nothin’,” he said. “Let’s have dinner.” 

“Yeah, no,” Tony said, his voice tense. “It’s hospital time, buddy.” 

He shook his head and tried to step forward. Hands scrambled for him as his knees buckled. “No… I got this.” 

“Shut up, Peter,” MJ said. “We’re taking you to the Tower. Now.” 

“But -- the pie --” 

“Can wait, you dumbass,” she said. 

Tony helped her pull Peter to his feet. “Yeah, I agree with her there. You are a dumbass.” 

“That’s me,” Peter said faintly. 

And promptly passed out. 

* * *

When he blinked his eyes open, Peter was surprised to find he wasn’t at the apartment anymore. “Whoa, what happened?” he said. Or, at least tried to say. What came out was more of a zombie-esque moan. 

MJ’s face came into his line of vision. “Peter!” Her curly hair was wild around her face, and her eyes were bright. 

“Wow,” Peter said slowly, blinking up at her. “You’re so pretty.” 

MJ made a noise that was either a laugh or a sob. “Oh, my god. What is wrong with you.” 

Everything was a little hazy, and Peter probably took too long to respond, and by the time he did he didn’t really remember what MJ had said. Yeah, they had him on the good drugs. “M,” he slurred. “I love you, you know? So much.” 

MJ huffed a laugh and kissed him on the side of the mouth. “Yeah, I know, Peter. I love you too.” 

“Sorry,” he said suddenly. “I forgot the pie.” 

MJ shook her head. “You did more than forget the pie. But it’s okay. I forgive you.” 

He tried to look down at himself, but moving his head was harder than he expected it to be. “‘M I… bleeding?” 

“Not anymore,” MJ said, running her thumb over his cheek. “You’re just really high.” 

“Yeah…” Peter agreed. “Yeah.”

MJ laughed, her eyes suspiciously bright. “You are so stupid, you know that right?” 

Peter couldn’t quite put the words together from that question, but he nodded anyway. “God, I love you,” he breathed. 

MJ just kissed him again. “Get some sleep, tiger. I think you need it.” 

His eyes were already closing.

* * *

The next time he woke up, there was a different figure next to him, and he felt decidedly less high. 

Also, his throat was as dry as the Sahara Desert. He tried to speak, but it only came out as a croak. 

Tony grabbed a cup of ice chips from the side table and spoon-fed him a few. The way they melted in Peter’s mouth was like a dream. 

“That better?” Tony said after a few of them. 

Peter nodded, blinking heavily. “What… what day is it?” 

“Saturday,” Tony said, opening up the newspaper in his lap. “It’s about noon, by the way. May and MJ are out grabbing lunch. They should be back in a minute.” 

Peter squinted at the headline of the paper. “Is that -- the _Daily Bugle?”_

“Oh, yeah,” Tony said. “I’ve got a subscription, actually. This stuff is hilarious.”

“That’s… they _hate_ me.” 

“Yeah, they do,” Tony chuckled. “They sure do.” 

Peter made out the headline -- _Spider-Man Fights Porpoise, Showing Anti-Environmental Stance._

Tony looked incredulously at the headline and accompanying picture. “Man, these guys just keep getting weirder, don’t they?” 

Peter huffed and relaxed back into the pillows. “You don’t have to tell me.” 

“At this point, I’m just surprised there’s any bank in the city that keeps cash on hand.” 

“They do seem to go after the banks,” Peter agreed.

Tony closed the paper and put it off to the side. “How’s the side feel?” he asked. Peter was surprised he’d gone this long without asking, honestly. 

“Not -- great,” Peter admitted. It was slowly feeling more painful, honestly. “What happened, anyway? How did I get here?” 

Tony raised an eyebrow. “We should be asking _you_ that. But I know what you mean.” He leaned forwards in his chair. “After you pulled your Sleeping Beauty act back at your apartment, we had to call 911. It was a struggle getting you out of your suit before they got there, since you literally _webbed_ yourself in. Then we had them reroute you to the Tower, and here we are.” 

Peter groaned. “Shit. I didn’t mean to. I was… last night was gonna be good. We were gonna have pie.”

Tony reached forwards and patted his arm. “Don’t worry, kid. We ate the pie. The whole thing, actually. It was more like stress eating than dessert, though.” 

Peter reached up to rub at his eyes, but a sharp tug in his abdomen stopped him. Quick as a flash, Tony shoved a pillow between his arms and his stomach as he curled in from the pain. 

“That’ll teach you not to move like that for a few days,” Tony told him. Peter heard him sigh. “The bullet got you right in the spleen and lodged in your rib. They had to go fishing for it.” He spoke casually, but the look in his eyes had Peter realizing that he must have really scared them. 

“That sounds… bad.” 

“Not great,” Tony agreed. 

“Never been shot in the spleen before, though -- new organ,” Peter said lightly. “You think if I hit ‘em all I get a free one?” 

Tony raised an unamused eyebrow at him. “I wouldn’t bet on it.” 

Peter winced. “Sorry… I’m a dumbass.”

“Yeah, you are,” Tony agreed, leaning back and crossing his legs. “But I’d save that for when MJ gets back.” 

“Right,” Peter muttered. He let out a deep breath. His eyes felt so heavy, and his head was like a bowling ball sinking into the pillow. “Did you… drug me?” he slurred, blinking slowly at Tony. 

Tony huffed a laugh. “No, kid. You’re just tired. Take a nap -- I’m sure May and MJ will be back when you wake up.” 

* * *

Sure enough, Peter woke to the pink and orange sunset coming in through the windows, and May and MJ sitting on either side of him. Tony seated by the window, scrolling through his phone. 

He smiled at MJ. “Hey,” he said roughly.

MJ looked up suddenly, a smile spreading slowly on her face. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said. 

“Oh, Peter,” May reached out and grabbed his hand. “It’s good to see you awake, honey.”

Peter swallowed, trying to clear up the dryness in his throat. “I’m sorry that I’m a dumbass.” 

MJ leaned forwards and kissed him on the cheek. “That’s okay, Peter. It’s not news to any of us, really.”

“We’d prefer it if you wouldn’t get shot and then not do anything about it, though,” Tony piped up from the window.

“Yeah, that wasn’t a great idea in hindsight,” Peter said. 

“Are you feeling okay?” May asked. 

Peter nodded. He did feel better, actually. There was less pain than there had been a few hours ago. “Yeah, I’m good,” he said. 

“Good,” said MJ. “Because if you weren’t, you wouldn’t get to eat any of this.” She reached down and picked up a white paper box. 

When Peter saw what was inside, he grinned and looked between the three of them. “I thought you ate it?” 

It was an apple pie from Flor’s Bakery. 

May chuckled and brought out a few paper plates from her purse. “Yeah, we got a new one. And don’t worry, we cleared it with the doctor.”

Peter chuckled, stopping only when it pulled at his tender stomach. “You guys are the best, you know that?” he said weakly. 

“Yeah, we know,” MJ said, squeezing his leg. “So, you’re gonna explain how you got shot later, but first -- we eat.” 

Peter smiled back at her. As May cut up the pie and passed pieces around, Peter watched them all, feeling something warm glowing in his stomach despite the cold air of the hospital room and the healing bullet wound. 

Because he’d be nothing without these people. These people who cared for him and loved him even though they owed him nothing. He didn’t deserve them -- not even a little bit.

But, after all of it, he certainly deserved a little pie. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comment if you like, they give me life!  
> Have a good one!


End file.
